My Immortal
by HogwartsNewsie92
Summary: My first song fic. Slash, Angst, language and sadness. Was it just lust? Or something more? Race asked hurt dripping from every word. You don't wanna know. Spot answered. Then lie to me! I love you He said. features everyones favorite couple! Sprace.


**Disclaimer: I do not own newsies or any of the characters and NEVER will. SO just live with it! sniff I've learned to.**

**Hello everyone out there! This is the start of a new story that I just couldn't WAIT to start!! I will still work on my other but this one was just too good not to write. It will be a slash, it will be angst, and it will be sad. If you don't like any of those then you probably won't like my story but I would appreciate it if you still gave it a chance and reviewed, all that jazz. So please, sit back, relax and enjoy my new story!**

_These wounds won't seem to heal  
This pain is just too real  
There's just too much that time cannot erase  
_

_When you cried I'd wipe away all of your tears  
When you'd scream I'd fight away all of your fears  
And I held your hand through all of these years  
But you still have  
All of me_

_-My Immortal,_**_Evanescence_**

**Prologue**

New York City, 1897. Two worlds collide. A difference between night and day. Friendships fall apart. Love. Hate. Betrayal. Death. A threat to the world. Questions. The rise of a great king and the fall of the strongest empire. Lies. Mutiny. Tears. These are the times we remember, the times we never thought of. Until now. No one knew the whole story. No one knew. Here, the documentary of an unexpected friendship, an unexpected love, I now release for all to read. Open to the world. Here on the streets of Manhattan, Brooklyn, Queens, Bronx. These are the dark times of New York.

In these times, nights dragged on, days were dull and money was scarce. Young boys freezing during bitter winters. Burning during blistering summers. Sleeping on the dirty streets. Calling out false head lines to earn one lousy penny. Children slaving away in factories. Danger around every corner, behind ever smile, following any kind word. Trust was minimal, almost none. Fights broke out everywhere. Pickpockets roamed the streets looking for their next victim. Out on these streets it was every man for himself. No one got too attached. No one went outside of their gang. These were hard times.

It was a gloomy, Christmas night in Brooklyn where it all began. A young boy ran through the streets, chased by about ten others. Leading them to an alley he turned around at the entrance and smirked. The 15-year-old's deep, cerulean eyes sparkled impishly as his sun-bleached flaxen hair fell messily into them. He found himself surrounded. Many in his position would have died of fright. But nothing scared him anymore. He stood tough, strong. Muscles outlined beneath his rough, tan skin. One calloused hand gripped the gold tip of the cane, slung through his belt loop, ready to jump into action at the precise moment. He stood his ground. They stared at each other. He smirked, the others glared heatedly. He spread his feet and brought himself up to full height, daring them to advance. Hesitation, then chaos. Who advanced first? I'll never know. But, the next thing he knew, he was being attacked. He stepped back as they charged, smirk not faltering one bit. He still stood his ground. Then he came to action. Whipping out his cane he swung it at the closest boy, knocking him upside the head, sending him crashing to the ground unconscious. He brought it around and hit another. Then another. Then another. He circled around in the mob, punching, hitting, kicking, swinging. Every so often he would receive a hit, but didn't feel it. He was numb.

Racket, grunting, crashes. Then silence. No one moved as their leader stepped warily toward the tired, bruised, yet still confident, adolescent who nodded, excepting the unspoken challenge that lay before them. The leader held his boys back with a simple signal, commanding them not to interfere. None would. Their leader sneered haughtily at the young boy, challenging him to make the first move as they circled each other, readily awaiting the others advance.

Ten…

The young boy narrowed his eyes, smirk falling for the first time.

Nine…

The leader cracked his knuckles, preparing himself.

Eight…

The young boy slipped his cane through his belt loop.

Seven…

The leader stood up to his full height, towering over the young boy about six inches.

Six…

The young boy spread out his feet, centering his weight.

Five…

The leader brought his fists up to his face, prepared to block any hits.

Four…

The young boy spit at the ground and smirked mirthlessly.

Three…

The leader lowered his fists an inch and glared heatedly at the young boy.

Two…

The young boy brought his fists up to match those of the leaders.

One…

Fists flew everywhere. Some hitting their target, some missing. No one knew who would come out of this victoriously.

The young boy jumped back out of the way of an upper cut sent by the leader, sending his own jab to the leaders face. His fist hit the target followed by a stomach curdling pop. The leader fell back, hand holding his nose in shock, the blood flowing down his chin as he tried to regain his composure. He waited one second to long. The young boy flew on top of him, hitting any exposed area he could reach. He punched the leader's chest, nose, eyes, ribs, arms.

The leader gave in, begging the boy to stop. He got off of him and stepped back, looking down at the bloody mess that was Brooklyn's former newsie leader. He smirked, spit at the leader's body and began to walk away from the shocked faces. After a few steps he turned around and said victoriously, "That'll teach you'se nevah ta mess wit Spot Conlon, evah again!" And with that he turned around and ran, never looking back in regret.

**Well I hope you enjoyed the first chapter! You know the drill, push that little button at the bottom left hand corner of the screen and follow the directions from there! Let me know what you think! **

**MERRY CHRISTMAS!**


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